Love's Strange
by anyadoll
Summary: What if Cole isn't the only one get's to choose where he ends up? After all, doesn't Time owe Jennifer Goines something as well?


**A/N:** Since the whole Jennifer/Deacon ship is so small I felt I had to contribute this piece! It's altering the ending ever so slightly, but it's what I would have liked to see for them. I feel like this always happens to me—I always end up rooting for the B couple who never actually get together except in stories other people write. Also, I don't know what Deacon's brother's name is or if they ever said it, so I made it up. Lyrics are obviously "Don't You Forget About Me," by Simple Minds. Possible epilogue to follow if there's a desire for it.

XOX

 **Love's Strange**

XOX

 _Won't you come see about me_

 _I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby_

 _Tell me your troubles and doubts_

 _Giving me everything inside and out_

 _Love's strange, so real in the dark_

 _Think of the tender things that we were working on_

 _Slow change may pull us apart_

 _When the light gets into your heart, baby_

 _Don't you, forget about me…_

XOX

 _Where are you now? Somewhere warm? Safe? Next to someone you—_

Nah, that was always Cole and Cassie's inner monologue. You can't rip off a fated, star-crossed couple's epic love like that. _You wish_ , of course. Considering your inner monologues strayed towards the weird and twisty and downright…well, insane.

Pretty words were never your forte. You're not crazy for the better part of thirty years and start forming cohesive thoughts now that you're suddenly "sane." Well, not entirely, anyway.

No, riddles are _your_ friend.

Circles within circles. Loops of thought that take you back to that _other_ timeline. The timeline where you were all the architects of the worst event to ever befall humanity. You slip sometimes—slip into the world that's (mostly) gone from their minds but never far from yours.

You don't just stop being Primary.

After all, someone has to keep shit in order.

Mother Nature's furniture and all that.

You knew what Jones did before she thought about doing it. That's why you didn't say goodbye, why you didn't hug Otter Eyes one last time. You would always see him again.

Cassie remembered just enough. While her love for him didn't will him into existence, it didn't hurt the cause either. It was enough for Time to know that deep down, it owed them _something_ after what it put them through.

Their son fated to be little more than a red herring in Olivia's plan wasn't exactly what she'd call fair, but in the grand scheme of things necessary for all of them to continue on. Maybe now they could get it right. Maybe this time, It would let them.

She'd checked up on everyone once Time had changed. Curiosity had always been a fault of hers. Still had the link, may as well use it to see where all the chips fell.

Jones got her family, the one she didn't know she wanted—needed—so badly. Ramse would someday get to keep the love of his life, and his kid. And Cassie had the infamous James Cole by her side.

Everyone had someone.

Everyone but her.

Kind of hard to be all that thrilled Time course corrected itself when your someone was out there, being tortured at the hands of his father with nary a thought for a woman he never knew.

Wasn't that the pits. You get to be crazy your whole life, then it turns out you're not actually _real_ crazy but _Time_ crazy. You watch your friends die, and come back, and die, and come back and hope their mistakes fix themselves knowing the whole time your death looms on the horizon—and you still, somehow, get left behind.

Sometimes, she _wants_ to go back. There's a pang of familiarity in that Other she doesn't feel here. Nostalgia for a Time that no longer exists—literally and figuratively. She doesn't fit in _this_ world, or this version of it anyway. She never did. Here she had no purpose. Here she bought caramel lattes and pretty dresses and had mindless conversation with people she didn't like, who didn't understand her, who didn't know her. Here she was no one.

Well, she wasn't _no one_ , per se. She was Jennifer Hargrove Goines, the Markridge Heiress. She bio-engineered a goddamn unicorn because she felt like it!

But it didn't make her feel any better. It didn't fill the void in her heart. Sparkles was great and all, but she was just a unicorn.

Sparkles couldn't sing. Sparkles didn't wink dramatically. Sparkles didn't wield a knife. Sparkles didn't tell her no one was going to lock her up and then be the one to do just that. She wouldn't be the one to free her from her cage. Wouldn't tell her that her father was an asshole (duh) and give her a shiny ruby ring to make up for her father's shitty-ness. Let her know he would never work for Olivia, that he was doing it to help them, to save them. And, ultimately, bequeath her his knife in his final act of goodbye.

She knew what it meant then, in that moment. What they meant to each other.

Even if they never said it. Even if they couldn't.

A barren wasteland and all the knowledge of their deaths didn't leave a lot of room for confessions like that. They did the best they could; his knife, her desperate pleas for him to not have joined Team Witness: The Olivia Years.

Their love story wasn't the one that mattered, right? It didn't fracture time, or break the past, or doom the world. It just was. And never would be.

The homicidal maniac and the actual maniac.

That was some Breakfast Club shit right there.

 _Don't you forget about me._

She wouldn't—never. Couldn't if she tried. But he would forget about her. No, that wasn't right. He couldn't forget because he never knew her in this now.

"It's not fair," Jennifer whispered to the little nameless tortoise currently making slow work of the raspberry she'd set in front of him. She'd almost named him after Deacon, but the thought made her miserable, and no other name seemed right. She had a strange inkling she wouldn't have the tortoise long, so nameless he remained. "I mean, you'd think I'd get some kind of recompense for the crap I've been through. World War One alone comes to mind. All this living outside of time and I can't even choose where I end up? Not cool."

She sighed, scooping the tortoise up off the floor and gently setting him in the massive glass tank she'd purchased. While she echoed Olivia's box sentiments, she didn't want to chance stepping on the little guy. "Sweet dreams."

…

Jennifer tossed around, tangling herself in the sheets, mind racing.

"Geez Egg, you look like hell. Aren't stupid-rich heiresses supposed to be living the high life? Yoga and kale smoothies and thousand dollar an hour therapy sessions?"

Jennifer gasped, backing up against the headboard. "What are you doing here? You're not…you're not supposed to be here—it's all done—Time is fixed!"

The elder her shrugged casually. "You knew you'd see me again. Besides, who said I was here," she observed, waving her hand to indicate the room, "and not up here," she tapped the side of her head. "Sometimes a dream is just a dream."

"Not mine," Jennifer answered tersely. She watched as her older self eyed the sketchbooks she kept propped on an easel by the window of the Emerson Hotel, suite 607. She'd purchased the hotel not long after they'd arrived (or re-arrived?) in the mended timeline, made the owner an offer he couldn't refuse and retained the current staff. Her one stipulation was that she take up permanent residence in suite 607.

Old Her flipped through a few pages, expression softening. This older version of herself looked different from the one she'd dealt with _then_. The Other Her had grayed early on, deep lines imbedded into the contours of her weathered face; eyes hollow with the things she'd witnessed throughout that life. This Her was…content, almost. Bits of gray were just beginning to peek out at her hairline; less pain, less lines—at least, the only lines she could find were the ones sprouting from the edges of eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't identify. "You're not the same Old Me. What happened to you—to us?"

"Love's strange," She answered vaguely, setting the sketchbook gently back where she'd found it and meeting her own eyes. "Everything changes. _You_ changed it. And you're right, you know. You got the short end of a very short stick. But Time and I, we didn't forget about you, Egg. How could we?"

It was her turn to shrug half-heartedly. She hadn't been that important, not really. Everything centered around Cassie and Cole and even Jones. They were the real moving parts. She was just a cog in the machine, Mother Nature's failsafe. It took her longer than she liked to understand why Deacon was always so worried about his role in all of _this._ They weren't the chosen ones. They were expendable sidekicks. The afterthoughts.

Old Her snorted. "That's what you think? Really?"

She gave a withering look to herself. "Well what am I supposed to think? You left me here—the one place I never wanted to go back to! Well, aside from 1914. I guess I thought it would be…different. I thought…I thought…"

"You thought it would be like it was."

"Something like that."

Old Her grunted as she plopped down on the edge of the bed, a safe three feet away. "Sorry Egg. I know what they mean to you. They became the family you always wanted. But you won't get them back—not _that_ version of them, anyway. Deep down, they'll always know, like an itch they can't scratch."

"I know," Jennifer swallowed thickly. "I think I just need to get over this pity party I'm throwing myself and move on already," she said, false pep coating her tone.

Her older version raised a wry eyebrow. "You really think you're fooling yourself?"

"No. But I also think you're here for a reason, and you should quit stalling already, _Chicken_."

"Alright." A half smile tilted her pale pink lips. "Time would like to make you a special offer, paid in full—no refunds, no take backs, and once the deal is done it cannot be undone. This is it, Egg. Your last mission, so to speak. Choose wisely. Or…choose nothing."

Jennifer nodded eagerly, encouraging her to continue.

"For your dedication and duty in restoring Time to its proper course, we bestow upon you the ability to choose the place in time you'd like to live out the rest of your days," Old Her boomed dramatically.

"Really?" Jennifer breathed, her heart clenching in her chest. It couldn't be real.

"Told you Time didn't forget about you. And I'd hurry—this offer has a shelf life."

She met brown eyes with brown, smiling brightly. "You know when."

"For eternity in a different time—contestant, is that your final answer?" She mocked, tilting her fist towards her younger counterpart as if she held a microphone.

Jennifer threw off the covers, stumbling as she quickly stood. "Yes Regis, let's blow this popsicle stand. Good bye 2015, hello 2043!"

…

She winced as the sunlight beamed into her eyes.

Everything looked the same. Maybe sometimes a dream really was just a dream.

Groaning, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She clutched her head at the topsy turvy feeling rushing around her. She didn't remember drinking last night, but it wouldn't be the first time. "Worst hangover, _ever._ "

Jennifer blinked a few times, trying to clear the haze. Her brain felt like cotton, and she couldn't put a finger on why. Reaching for the water glass she kept on the nightstand, her fingertips grazed a piece of her sketchbook paper. Fragments of the previous night began dancing around her mind.

She unfolded the paper, her hand covering her mouth.

 _Egg—_

 _The right ending is the one you choose. Or maybe that's not entirely correct. Maybe I should have said the perfect middle is the one you find when you're not looking. We had a shitty beginning, you and I. So take that for what it's worth. Hell, maybe both statements are correct. Time passes as it's meant to, and will continue to do so because of you. You're free Egg. Live_ your _life, for once._

Her eyebrows pulled together at the words on the page. Live her own life? Just like that? Was it even possible? She'd lived her life for so many others—for her crazy mother and asshole father, for Cole and Cassie and Jones and Olivia and the Monkeys and Time—never for herself. That hadn't been the mission. And now…

She folded the second half of the paper down. Sketched across it was the exterior of a bar, the address helpfully present on the brick. Her smile widened.

 _Okay, let's get moving._

Her hand was anxiously twisting the knob before she realized the state she was in, laughing to herself. "Pretty sure showing up in pajamas in any timeline isn't socially acceptable. Clothes first. And a shower, too," She said aloud, turning to feed the little tortoise. Her face fell—he was gone, and she wasn't surprised. "Guess you couldn't come with me."

XOX

There was a knock on the sea green door.

"I've got it," Cassie called back as Cole attempted to make mac and cheese in the kitchen. They'd set the ancient smoke alarm off three times already and they'd barely begun boiling the noodles. Thankfully she'd had the foresight to order takeout.

She pulled the door open, figuring it was Chinese—his second favorite indulgence next to cheeseburgers. Cash in hand, she was more than a little surprised to see a middle-aged woman on her porch. Cassie tilted her head, dredging the deep recesses of her mind and coming up empty as to how she recognized the woman.

"Do I…know you?"

The woman snorted, a half smile tilting her lip. Their was no black lace veil covering her head, or leather corset or heavy gown bedecking the Old Her. Just a threadbare Rolling Stones tee and washed out jeans.

"No. Not this me. Never this me," She answered cryptically, her dark eyes more than a little sad as she took in the beautiful blonde. "But once upon a time that never was…in another life…"

Tilting her head the opposite direction, Cassie continued to study her. "What are you here for?"

"I'm not here for anything. Just came to give you a belated gift," Old Jennifer answered, holding up the little carrier with an equally little tortoise meandering around inside. She held it out and Cassie reflexively took it. "Or a future one. She doesn't need him, not anymore. She's got her own life to live. But there's something…something tells me he belongs to you now," She said, nodding curtly, more to herself than Cassie. "Don't you forget about me, okay."

With a dramatic wink and click from the side of her mouth, she stepped off the porch, walking the winding dirt path. Cassie looked into the crate, everything familiar yet also…not.

Strangers don't just show up on your porch handing out turtles.

"Cass, who is it?" Cole asked from behind her. She hadn't responded to him calling her name for some time.

"A woman…she gave me this. I think…I think I know her. No, maybe _knew_ her," Cassie stumbled through her explanation, confused.

Cole saw the tortoise, a grin stretching across his face. "Young or old?" He asked quickly. "The woman."

Cassie shot him a strange look. "Old. Or, older than us, anyway. Why?"

His smile widened. "It's just…I don't think anyone earned the right to be happy more than she did. Not even us. We were owed. She _deserved_ it."

"You want to fill me in?"

Cole put his arm around his wife's waist, taking the carrier from her hands. "It's a long story. About monkeys and viruses, and the woman that saw it all."

"We've got time," Cassie said softly, the tethers of memories long forgotten fluttering in her mind.

"Yea…we do."

XOX

She smoothed her dress down nervously, fidgeting with her hands when she walked into the bar. The dress hadn't been apart of her original wardrobe in 2015, which is exactly why she threw it on. It was a striking emerald green, fluttery and soft with a trail of tiny buttons on the bodice. Tugging on the spaghetti straps—it was a hot one in New York today—she took a deep breath. She wanted to appear natural, like she always had—except maybe a little more put together, a little cleaner, and a little less covered in charcoal dust. _And, okay, so mascara and a proper curling iron didn't hurt either._

The Brothers Deacon was empty aside from the lone patron sipping a beer at a table nearby. It was only noon, after all.

Feeling stupid for coming so early, she turned to leave, her confidence waning.

"Miss?"

The voice was familiar, but the pitch was different—younger.

She waved her hands manically in the air. "Sorry, sorry, wrong bar, I'm just gonna—"

"Holy shit," the young man gasped, nearly dropping the glass he was drying. He stared at her in a way that made her a little uncomfortable. "You're…you're real?"

"Um…last I checked?" She said dryly, subtly pinching her arm just to make sure. Who knew anymore?

"Holy—I _can't_ believe it. The bastard was right! Shit! There's just…there's no way! I mean, that's not possible," He kept muttering to himself. Jennifer was starting to think she wasn't the only crazy one in the room.

"Being as terribly familiar as I am with conscious streams of thought, I've found it helps to talk it out," She offered bluntly, waving at a booth.

The man nodded, dropping into the cushioned booth across from her, the seat protesting his heavy landing.

"You're her," he said simply, his brother's eyes never leaving her face.

"Her who?" Jennifer asked, though she could certainly guess. Time hadn't shown her _this_ , probably because it wasn't supposed to be. Not technically, anyway.

The man sighed, running a hand through long, shaggy hair that reminded her of Cole—no wonder Deacon had had a soft spot for the young traveler.

"You're never going to believe me," he prefaced, sounding wary. She was a stranger, and she knew well how people took the odd ramblings of a crazy person.

Jennifer leaned forward, a sly smile on her painted lips. "You'd be surprised. Try me."

He leaned back, eyes never straying far from her face.

"It was a long time ago. I was just a kid, and we were hanging out in the lobby of this hotel while our mom booked a room. She'd finally gotten the courage to leave our dad a few years prior and we were checking off all the places we'd never been able to go before," He began, hesitating at the rather personal information he was disclosing. _Good for them_ , she thought. "We're running around this giant planter in the middle of the lobby—it had this cool clock in the middle and we'd made a game of shoving each other out of the way to try and touch it. Drove the owner nuts.

"This lady yells at us out of nowhere, but it was different—not like she was mad but like she was…I don't know, conflicted? surprised? I still can't put my finger on it. I ran back to mom. But not Teddy. He had this look on his face when he came up to the concierge desk, and I was too young to really think much of it. He was a teenager—I figured she laid into him about causing a ruckus or setting a good example or something."

He took a breath, drumming his fingers on the heavy wood tabletop. "Go on," Jennifer urged him, captivated.

"We got pretty hammered the day we opened this place, and I, of course, was arguing with him for not putting a ring on the finger of this girl he'd been seeing. I couldn't figure out what was holding him back—no reason not too start thinking about marriage, or a family. We were at least semi-successful, he could give her a good life, and she loved him. He told me she was right for right now, but not the right forever. When I asked him why, being the loose-lipped lush that he is, he told me everything about the day in that hotel. And I laughed. Now I know I shouldn't have. Not after he showed me the—" he shook his head, as if to say _not yet._ "That woman, from when we were kids…she looked like a princess—gold hair and blue eyes and this calming kind of smile. She had a little girl with her, younger than me, her daughter, I think. I remember the woman better, mostly because she stared at my brother like she _knew_ him. We weren't exactly from the right side of the tracks, the people we grew up around did _not_ look like that, so there's no way they could have recognized each other but I _swear_ they did. But that's not possible, right?" He asked without asking before focusing on his explanation.

"Teddy tells me that the girl tugged on her mom's sleeve, and the woman pulled out a folded piece of paper and gave it to him. The little girl told him: _you'll know her when you see her, and you'll remember,_ and then the woman asked him to tell this mystery lady _'hi'_ back." Jennifer's mouth dropped ever so slightly, her surprise going unnoticed by his brother. "My brother has _literally_ traveled the world looking for this inevitable woman. Every brunette that walks through that door turns his head, until he realizes it's not her. Well, not _you._ I've never seen the power a kid could wield like that girl. She set him on a path and he never looked back. It was like— _is like_ —his whole purpose comes down to finding the girl in the green dress."

Hesitating once more, he held out the half tattered, well worn paper. The crease marks were imbedded as deeply as the smudged fingerprints that must have brushed across the painting a thousand times.

It was her. In the green dress. There was no mistaking it. Her soft, mischievous eyes stared back from the parchment. Color filled nearly every corner of the paper. She'd been partial to the darkness of charcoal herself, as had Athan, the boy that had preceded this child in the Other timeline.

But _this_ Primary—Cole and Cassie's _daughter_ —she was all light and color and beauty. _The Primary genes sure are strong with that couple_ , she thought-laughed. Or maybe she was the one truly meant to be all along _._

 _Athena_.

The name whispered across her mind so fast it nearly gave her whiplash. Athan. Immortal. Athena. Wisdom. The wisdom to know the _difference_ between the children, and their purposes in the lives of her friends. They couldn't get Athan back—his purpose and existence belonged to another Time. But Athena—she was meant for _now._

So lost in a memory of a child she'd never met, she barely heard Deacon's brother.

"I told him he was a fool. Move on, get over it. Find someone that's real. You're taking the word of a child. Things like that don't just happen. Imagine my surprise when you walked through that door today."

"Where is he?" She asked suddenly, her tone bordering on pleading.

"He's not supposed to be in until later. If you want I can make you something to eat and you can wait?" Jennifer nodded immediately, a bit embarrassed her stomach rumbled so loudly at the mention of food.

He moved out of the booth, pausing. "You know, we're not superstitious people. I never believed in psychics until this very second. But if that little girl predicted this almost twenty-five years ago then hell, I'm willing to believe anything."

"Psychic," She smiled as he headed into the kitchen. "Please."

It had only been fifteen minutes and her restless energy was already getting the better of her. She slid out of the booth, walking the length of the bar, trailing her fingertips over every available surface. The vintage jukebox in the corner grabbed her attention immediately. Music was her vice, her port in the midst of her harrowing visions.

She flipped idly through the catalogue of songs behind the glass pane, her heart flip-flopping when her eye caught a specific song title. Shoving a few quarters into the slot (it was rather disappointing the future wasn't cooler; she expected flying cars and wrist scanners by this point) she pressed the button to play the selected song.

Jennifer was swaying around the tables when Deacon's brother emerged from the kitchen, a burger and fries resting on a blue melamine plate. He placed it on the bar top, sliding it towards her. He shook his head, an unreadable expression on his face. It was relaxed and weary all at once, as if to say _great, the girl my brother is fated to meet also happens to be a few cards short of a full deck._

Jennifer shrugged it off. She was who she was. Crazy was her bit and she was sticking with it.

She plucked a couple fries off the plate, savoring the salty, crunchy treat when the door of the bar swung open.

The man in the doorway visibly winced.

"Aw Christ, Tommy! I get it! You think I'm a nut bar for believing some kid could predict my future!" He yelled, flipping through the bar's mail and ignoring the sole elderly patron. Clearly the man was here enough that he'd learned to tune out the brothers arguments. Or he'd turned off his hearing aid. "You don't have to be a dick about it, rubbing it in with that damn song! Fine—I'll call Crystal, will that make you happy, you little shit?" He grumbled a few more choice names while waiting for Tommy's response.

Deacon tossed the mail on the counter by the cash register, whistling the tune he'd just been lamenting. Jennifer couldn't help but stare. He was still that ruggedly handsome type—roguish and foreboding. Sure, it was less Scav King survivalist and more intentional devil may care than it once was. Less gray in his hair. No scars. Or, fewer, anyway. Especially if his mom had found the courage to leave early on in this timeline. The same, but different.

She was seconds away from throwing herself into his arms, damn the consequences. Old Her hadn't exactly been forthcoming with whether Deacon would actually know who she was. If it went sideways she could always claim temporary insanity. Or, you know, _actual_ insanity.

Tommy emerged from the kitchen once again, a towel slung over his shoulder and a bewildered expression lighting his features. "Teddy…" he began, but trailed off. Deacon's brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

Tommy shrugged helplessly. "The girl…she was right," he said quietly, pointing at Jennifer lingering beyond Deacon's peripheral.

She could see Deacon tense from where she stood, like he couldn't tell if it was real or if his brother was playing a cruel joke on him. He turned slowly, keeping a suspicious eye on his little brother. Mouth agape, Deacon looked just as stunned as Tommy had when his gaze settled on her form.

Tommy clapped his brother on the shoulder, leaning in and whispering something to the man at the bar. The man huffed in agitation, as if their time-crossed, long pre-ordained story was a burden. Well, it probably was. He seemed pretty invested in the baseball game he'd been watching.

"C'mon Seth," Tommy said a bit loudly. Seth waved him off, mumbling obscenities under his breath as they exited the bar together. "You can tell me what growing up a Millenial was like. Again."

Her nervous energy was back, fingers toying with the hem of her dress, afraid to meet his eyes.

"Nice place," She said awkwardly, her voice rising in pitch. It came out almost like a hiccup, and she could feel the red rush in her cheeks.

He laughed lightly, haltingly. "Yeah, it was always my dream to own a bar with Tommy, my little brother who clearly talks too much."

"I know," Jennifer said without thinking, squeezing her eyes shut. _Stupid, Jennifer. Stupid. He doesn't know you!_

Deacon paused, his mouth opening and closing, trying to find the words. "I'd say I'm surprised that you could know that, but …I'm not." Something tickled the back of his mind as he took her in. Little ribbons of memories twisting themselves into oddly shaped bows, tying one time to another. He'd been lost for so long. Purposeless. Always feeling like he was supposed to be somewhere he never was, had never been, would never be, with someone who didn't exist. Jokes he'd start to tell before realizing no one was there to hear. Movies he'd watch and expect to discuss with a _her_ he'd never met.

Hell, he'd traveled the freaking world to find it—find _her_ —and come up short at every corner.

Until now.

"Stupid Primary problems," She muttered, not quietly enough as she viciously shoved a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

Whether it was her tone of voice, or the words she said, or the way she bounced on the balls of her feet as she berated herself, he felt like he already remembered what she said, like a long ago echo. Like Deja Vu.

 _Turns out I was writing the future in the past tense! Hashtag, Primary Problems._

The memory struck him out of nowhere. Shoulder pads and excessive auction purchases and _Monty, can you be a lamb,_ as he held her purple clutch. Clutch? _The hell was a clutch?_ Some part of him new it was a purse with no strap and the thought amused him.

 _No one,_ no one, _is gonna lock you up._

A dark floor covered with dark drawings in an even darker room. A woman scribbling frantically, long hair catching under the chunk of charcoal every so often. A tiny tortoise traversing one of the pictures. A significantly larger one nearby. _Does Jones know you brought back a paradox in a half shell?_

A gun firing. A bullet piercing. A woman falling—older this time. A blade slashing across his face. And then, a different blade resting its sharp edge at the back of his neck and the taste of goodbye lingering on his tongue—he shook his head at that, cringing at the vague memory of his death. Of her death. Of their strange camaraderie. Soothing words and harsh truths. Backstabbing and betrayal and the silent apologies that followed.

Shoving her into the very cage he promised no one ever would. Watching as she smashed her head into the concrete until they sent her away, the cheeky parting wink making him rethink everything he'd thought of the strange woman.

Sitting at a table in the middle ages, offering his prized possession to _her._

Odd, he thought _._ He'd never been one to share his things.

No, not sharing. _Giving away_. His time was up and he knew it. She was the only one he wanted to say goodbye to, one afterthought to another.

He'd never been a wordsmith, despite his adoration of literature. Giving her that knife was the only way he knew how to tell her that he…that he…

It was a fuzzy mess in his head. Bows still looping, memories of _this now_ clashing with _that then_. He massaged his temple at the bursts of searing pain, like his consciousness was splitting open to make room for another.

Jennifer smiled, wide and knowing.

"It's all coming back to you now," She giggled, clapping her hands together gleefully.

"Like a bad Celine Dion song, thanks for that," He chided, grimacing as his head throbbed. He sat in the booth she'd long vacated, pulling the worn drawing towards himself.

His brain was pulling at threads, names dancing on the tip of his tongue. "Cassie," He whispered, and Jennifer's face fell ever so slightly at the weight her name carried. _Hard to compete with a princess, huh, Jennifer._

"Cassie—she gave me this. They were there, at the Emerson. That was…that was years ago," He gasped, the pieces slowly falling into their places. "There was a girl with her—with them. Is that—is she—"

"Primary? Their daughter? Oh, yeah," Jennifer said, spinning around to the jukebox to drop in a few more quarters, more so she could recoup from the sharp jab in her chest than anything. _If I Could Turn Back Time_ burst forth.

"Bit on the nose for my taste," Deacon said wryly, nodding at the clunky, silver machine. His eyes flicked back to her with curiosity, tracing her delicate face and searching for a name. A half-smile pulled his lip. "Jennifer Goines, _like a fox_."

She dipped into a haphazard curtsey.

"How?" He asked, indicating her presence. "How are you here? _Why_ are you here?"

The response came quickly, she'd said it so often. "The right ending is the one you choose."

He scrunched his eyebrows together, perplexed by the statement as bits and pieces swam around his brain. "But you're supposed to be back in…back in 2015, right? You're saying Time just took a detour and decided to drop you off here in 2043."

She snorted, pacing the laminate floor. "Not exactly. Had to go home first, rearrange some furniture, make sure Otter Eyes ended up on the beach, safe and sound. Oh, and make a unicorn," Jennifer answered with a wink. "Sometimes you gotta help Fate along."

He seemed to straighten at that, glancing back at the drawing. _Fate._ Seemed like an awful lot of trouble on Fate's part to put her here.

Deacon sighed. "Fate or Time or whatever didn't seem to care too much about _that_ Deacon, why does it care so much about this one?"

"Still bitter about that whole purpose thing, huh?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. _Seriously how…am I not on here?_ "You'd be a little hurt too. I didn't appear on the map, or in your sketches, or anywhere for that matter. My only purpose was to kill you—do you even know how that ate at me?"

Jennifer swallowed thickly, moving to stand in front of him. "You had a purpose, Deacon. You just didn't know it. Took me awhile to figure it out."

He looked up, studying her. She'd always worn her emotions like a second skin, there for everyone to see, if they only looked. Jennifer was dead serious now, her usual hint of crazy absent from every part of her.

"And," he prompted softly.

"You know, I saw everybody die. Jones and Cole, Cassie, Hannah, _seven billion people_ and the whole Splinter Squad. Even myself. They died a thousand times up here," She said, tapping the side of her head roughly. "Never you. Not once. I couldn't…I couldn't see it. I didn't know why. I mean, everybody dies. And when you did in 1491…I didn't understand. Of all the deaths, why couldn't I stop yours? Or undo it? Why wasn't I allowed to know? It wasn't fair."

Jennifer swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks, catching errant tears. She exhaled, steadying herself. "Primaries…we're alone, and misunderstood, and crazy. We need stability and focus. A guiding force to help us cut through the madness _._ Athan told me about Eliza after I saved him—the one person's death he couldn't see. The death he couldn't fix no matter how hard he tried, or how many times he went back. She was the person he loved most, and because of that Fate or Time or _whatever_ made her death unknowable to him. Whether it's to keep us sane, or to keep us going and fighting and _living—_ or maybe so we don't take the time we do have with each other for granted. There's a reason why I never drew you, and why you weren't on the map," Her dark eyes caught his, swallowing him whole. Her voice barely a whisper. "You were _never_ theirs. You were _always_ mine."

Holy shit. _Holy shit_. All at once, everything snapped into place.

 _You'll know her when you see her, and you'll remember._

It made sense. It did. All his anger melted away—the anger from before, at feeling left out of Team Splinter, like he was there for kicks (sometimes literally) trying so desperately to fit in somewhere.

Her. The whole time. _Of course_ it was her.

Who the hell else would it be?

And Olivia knew it, some way, somehow. It was the reason Olivia had pushed him so hard, plucked at his insecurities, turned him against Jennifer.

She stepped away from him, letting her words sink in. It was a bit of knowledge she wished she'd had sooner, but as with all things Fate related, perhaps she wasn't supposed to _then_. Maybe this knowledge was always for _now_.

Jennifer felt time passing, felt his lack of response deep in her bones. His silence was deafening in the empty bar, the dulcet tones of Whitney Houston singing _I Wanna Dance With Somebody_ reverberating off the walls.

She sighed inwardly. Too much. She was always too much, too soon. Explains the still single at thirty situation pretty well. That, and the crazy thing. Quite the alluring package. _Why couldn't I be more like Cassie?_

"Why would you want to be like Cassie?" Deacon asked, startling her out of her own head. She jumped, nearly tripping over a barstool. His hand shot out to steady her, gripping her elbow but not letting go.

 _Shit, did she say that out loud?_

"Oh, you know. She's all beautiful and effortless and oozes tranquility," Jennifer replied quietly, envy belying her offhand tone. Shrugging, she continued. "No crazy in the gene pool, aside from the whole Primary thing, and that's kind of Cole's fault. She's everything I always wanted to be. Normal, and happy. She's everything you want, too. Pretty obvious."

Had she made a mistake coming here? It couldn't be undone, no take backs. She'd just be stuck here, alone. Left behind. Again.

"No," Deacon said firmly, grasping her shoulders. "No, Jennifer. Once upon a time, maybe. She and I, it was never going to be what she has with Cole. Not even close. That was so clear it was glass. I just had to be a dick about it because it hurt to be cast aside, again. And then there was you, yelling about turning the machine into a goddamn roller coaster ride and in all my years I'd _never_ seen someone so actually full of life. I think I needed to kill you to find you, if that makes sense? You fixed a part of me then that I didn't think could be fixed. Made me better. You gave me hope that despite all the shit that was wrong in that Other Time we'd find a way out. If I'd looked a little harder, or paid more attention, maybe I would have seen that sooner. Still, I think a part of me knew. I was just so blind to it."

"It's okay," Jennifer shrugged, so sincere he winced.

He'd never understand the ease at which she forgave people. They'd all at some point been terribly, horribly cruel to the girl that had been nothing but helpful, grateful, and ultimately the one that saved them all. She'd been slapped, hit, locked up more than once across time, left to fend for herself because she wasn't the priority, maligned by society, shot, killed, rejected by Cole, betrayed by _him_ , and she still had enough goodness in her left to forgive even still. She'd asked for nothing in return but their trust, their friendship, and most days they couldn't even be bothered to give her that.

She really was the best of them.

"You're looking at me weird," She said gently, head tilted to the side in quiet observation.

"I always look at you weird. You're weird," He smirked, laughing lightly at her expression.

"We both know that's not what I meant."

Deacon sighed, his hand moving from her shoulder to grip her hand, squeezing. "Sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

"Figure what out?" Jennifer asked, even though it wasn't much of a question.

"That being weird with you is the only thing I ever wanted to be."

She smiled brightly, blindingly. "Even if I'm still a little crazy?"

"You're not crazy Jennifer."

It had been one thing for Cole to say it; something else entirely coming from Deacon. He'd been the most accepting of her jumbled mess of a Time-influenced mind. Her often scattered vision tangents amused him—not in a condescending way, but one that encouraged her to see it through. He'd sit back and enjoy the show, loving how everyone else squirmed in the midst of her madness. Mirth would dance in his eyes when she'd formulate some long winded, half-cocked, save-the-world plan, recounting her traumatizing past experiences and spinning them into clever puns. Crazy or not, he'd have followed her to the depths of hell if she asked.

She seemed to sober at his simple response. "You mean that, don't you?"

Deacon shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "Never really found a reason to lie to you. No point starting now."

He should have been prepared. This was Jennifer, after all. But she surprised him, throwing her arms around his neck, causing him to stagger back at the force she propelled herself with.

Home. It felt like home.

The girl always living outside of time had finally found a place she fit so definitely it left her breathless.

"I love you, you know," She whispered gently, face half buried in his shoulder as she stood on tip toes.

"I had a feeling," He replied. "I mean, of all the gin joints…"

She snorted at the ancient movie line.

It was harder for him to say it, she knew. Cassie had burned him in the Other past. She wasn't all that privy to the life he'd lived here, so who was she to think it couldn't have happened again, with another woman.

Jennifer pulled back, dropping down on her heels. Her expression was guarded but understanding, and he knew she was offering him an out.

 _It's okay, we can just be friends._

He could almost hear the words spilling from her mouth. Like the two of them could really be all _When Harry Met Sally_ about this. What would she do? Sing at the bar on a karaoke night they didn't even have while he beat the guys eyeing her like meat back with his trusty baseball bat?

Yeah, that would go well.

He realized he hadn't said anything for some time following her confession, and now she was starting to shut down. Her shoulders tensing in defense, stance going a bit more rigid as she not so subtly tried to tug herself free of his grasp.

 _You suck at this_. _Why did Fate pick you to be this for her? Why did she? Oh right, she loves you, moron. You keep the voices quiet, you keep her focused, she got under your skin and made you care, and you—_

 _You love_ _her_.

 _You thought you loved Cassie, but that had been desperate and deeply unrequited. Something to get you through the bad times before she came along and brightened your world._

Jennifer had _literally_ loved him at his worst. There were none in his life that could say the same, in either time.

Before she could pull away from him fully, he let his hands fall to her waist, anchoring her in place.

"I have loved every version of you," He stated, feeling her freeze beneath his fingertips. "The batty old lady who told me she didn't see anything she liked yet; the odd little girl whose father did his best to squash her spirit; the woman who could have gone anywhere—any time—but chose to be here, with me. I don't know what I did to deserve it in any timeline but…that's it. I love you, too."

 _Easier than you thought, huh?_

He didn't think he'd ever seen her so happy, she practically glowed with it. Nimble fingers once caked with charcoal were tracing up his chest, coming to rest on the sides of his face. Her thumbs swept over his jaw, the prickliness of his beard sending shivers down her spine. Deacon leaned down, erasing their height difference to meet her in the middle.

Neither could say who initiated the kiss. One moment she was looking at him with those soulful, all-knowing eyes and the next she was crushed against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, anchoring her to him as his free hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers tangling themselves up in the dark tresses she'd painstakingly curled. Course, she wasn't exactly complaining. The slow, searching kiss turned frenzied as she tugged at his vintage Rolling Stones shirt and the arm around her waist drifted lower into _we're definitely not going to be just friends_ territory.

Fine with her. She pulled back to gasp for a breath as his lips trailed down her neck. "Why didn't we do this sooner?" Jennifer breathed, head falling back.

Deacon scoffed, stopping his ministrations to look at her, amused and adoring. "There was a world to save, Time to unbreak. You know, the usual."

Jennifer rolled her eyes, a half grin tilting her swollen lips. "Oh, right. Just that. Really gets in the way of the fun stuff."

"I'll say," he agreed, already gravitating back into her space. About to pull her towards him, they both paused when they heard it. The old jukebox, whether teasing or telling, began playing the song that started it all. The pair burst into laughter, resting their foreheads together as the lyrics melted into white noise. "Let's get out of here."

Jennifer twined her fingers with his, satisfied with the way they fit, satisfied with this life, and more than satisfied to have found the man she loved. An odd look crossed his face, and before she could ask what it was, he glanced back, picking the drawing up.

"Right there," he answered her unspoken question, eyes soft. "That's what she captured. Whatever you just thought, or felt. That was it."

"I was thinking about all of this," Jennifer said, squeezing his hand. "Everything we've been through to get here…love's strange, you know. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me either." He kissed the top of her head, guiding them towards the exit. "Here's to hoping Time stays on our side."

Jennifer grinned, leaning against his shoulder.

"It always was."

XOX

Somewhere not far away, a young woman froze in the midst of hanging one of the heavy, gilded frames adorning the walls of the gallery. A smile crept across her face, and she _knew._

"What is it?" Her father asked, not with concern but curiosity. Her mother trailed behind him, arranging their takeout on the desk. Cheeseburgers and Chinese, of course.

"They found each other," She answered him wistfully, setting the frame on its hooks. Crouching down, she stroked the shell of the tortoise wandering around her feet. "Hear that, Athan? _They found each other_."

XOX

The End. For now.


End file.
